Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Entry #1
by Adler

“Look at me,” he said.
I felt a frisson run down my spine at the sound of his voice, and my lips trembled.  I kept my gaze fastened on the bubbles floating on the placid surface of my black coffee.
“Look.” His voice deepened.  There was no way I could resist that voice.
“Gary,” I heard myself say, looking up at his kind eyes.
“I need to know you’re in this because it’s what you really want,” he continued softly, “not just because you think it’s what you should do.”
I shook my head.  “No, I--this is all me, Gary.  All of me.  I’m just worried that after everything, you might not want-”
“No,” he broke in, eyes shining.  “Never say that.  If I know one thing, it’s that I’ll never love another woman more than you.  You are the sun, you are the moon, you are the shadows on a summer night.  My love, you are both the flower and the frost, the horizon’s promise, the timeless Muse, the breath in my lungs and the wisdom of the ages-”
“Wow, your English Lit degree really was good for something after all,” I said.
And then we done sex.

Entry #2
by Elle

“What’s next?  You tell me,” he said.  He held his voice steady but his grey eyes darkened to flint, betraying his anger.  “One minute I’m a guy named Sam Allen, lying in a hospice bed, dying of cancer.  The next thing I know I’m waking up in an Intensive Care Unit and I’m being told I’m a guy named Gary Farber who’s recovering from a head injury.”

His sister remained silent, her eyes cast down, refusing to meet his gaze.  He got up and started pacing around the room, his hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously as he spoke.

“You brought me back,” he said.  “I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t want to know.  All this metaphysical and magical hocus-pocus may make perfect sense to you, Candy, but I can promise you this much.  It won’t make a lick of sense to Sarah.  Your problem is, you never think these things through.  What did you think would happen?  What am I supposed to do, stroll up the front walk, knock on the door and say, ‘Oh, hi honey, it’s me, back from the dead.  What’s for dinner?’”

Entry #3
by Amy

“Please, Maureen, you must try and understand.” Gary’s eyes implored her, like twin pools of Cool Blue Gatorade. “I never meant to hurt you- never! It sounds so trite to say these things just happen, but I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. I feel light, alive… luminous! It’s indescribable. Someone so brilliant, so beautiful, so impeccably dazzling only comes along once in a lifetime… you understand that. Don’t you? Please, Maureen, say you understand.”

He clasped her hand tenderly, almost desperately. Maureen sighed.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “I do. But for heaven’s sake, Gary, my grandmother is ninety-seven years old. Even for you, don’t you think that’s pushing it?”

Entry #4
JC Taylor

“They told me you probably can’t hear this, so I’m just going to let it all out. If you can, well. You can punch me when you wake up. Iwon’t mind—” He was quiet for a moment.

“I never thought about love much. Too busy, I guess. So when I woke up one morning with your elbow in my face and the thought hit me that I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it, I panicked a little. You probably remember – I told you I had a dentist appointment and tripped on the dog on my way.”

I could hear the smile in his voice, the crookedness of it, the way he ruffled his hand through his hair.

“I was back twenty minutes later with coffee and bagels, and you gave me the weirdest look. And that was it – I was done. I bought the ring that afternoon. So that’s it, Maggie. You need to wake up, because otherwise…I can’t even think of an otherwise. I’ll be here.”

And his hand wrapped around mine, warm and a little rough, and held on tight.

Entry #5
by Morgan

Gary finished another bite of vegetarian quiche. Gad, it was awful, but he’d go to any lengths to persuade Mary the killing was justified. 

“So that’s why I had to strangle the weasel,” he said. “It was a matter of life or death. Survival or…extinction.”

Mary crossed her arms. The negative body language emphasized her magnificent cleavage, which had an ironic effect on Gary’s pants.

Focus, Farber. “The California condor is the most endangered species in America. It’s even rarer than the black-footed ferret,” he said stiffly. “Yeah, they’re vultures and they eat meat, but…

Gary broke off as Mary shuddered in revulsion.  She hadn’t eaten meat since her fifth grade field trip to an African abattoir. He soldiered on. “If we’d let that egg-sucking weasel continue to raid the nest, it would set the recovery program back years.”

Mary glared. Gary cast about desperately for a more persuasive argument.

Then he noticed the $52,000 Rolex Pearlmaster on her wrist.

“Each California condor egg,” Gary said, “is worth approximately twenty million dollars.”

He watched, fascinated, as a warm glow of forgiveness filled her eyes and her nipples peaked beneath her silk blouse.

Hot damn, but he’d be getting some tonight.

Entry #6
by Hortense Powdermaker

An excerpt from LIFE SUCKS:  THE TRUE MEMOIR OF THE VAMPIRE GARY FARBER

Gary settled into the dentist chair and opened wide so Dr. Gupta could begin to reconstruct his snapped-off canine.

It had been a mistake to let his emo-angst interfere with his blood lust, but his first meal-candidate was so pure, so innocent, so…stacked. He’d always been a sucker for big, virginal breasts. So he’d given Connie Swail his cell number instead, and turned his attention to Charlotte, the elderly misogynist.

Who knew that her leathery neck would be his Waterloo? Of course, his teeth were over two thousand years old.

The problem was he had no dental insurance. Add that to his powerful sense of right and wrong, and he was metaphorically fucked. Sink his fangs into strangers? Give them instant anemia? Turn them into the living undead? Check, check, check. But the Vampyre Rules of Engagement forbade pick-pocketing, home invasion robberies, and sending off e-mails claiming to be the Nigerian finance minister with six million dollars that needed to be stashed in someone’s account.

He’d be working the night shift at McDonald’s for a year just to pay off Dr. Gupta.

Oh, if only mail fraud was an option.

Entry #7
by Meredith

From now on, he thought, everyone could just call him Ghery. Ghery Fharbher. He stretched, newly muscled arms nearly touching the ten foot ceilings, and the feel of his new body made him anxious. Like he should be kicking ass and taking names, rather than standing in line at the Starbucks, waiting for his mocha soy latte, no whip, easy on the mocha.

Some things never changed, even when you became a vampire.

The barista raised an eyebrow, before hesitantly pronouncing “Ge-hairy?”, reading from the coffee cup. Ghery growled, and he reached one beefy mitt—he was still amazed at the size of his hands, not to mention the size of something significantly lower and way more important, holy crap, that alone was enough enticement to join the Brotherhood—and took the latte from the tattooed, dreadlocked woman.

A noise from the cell in his pocket distracted him, and he pulled out the phone with his free hand. “Yo, whattup bro?” he said. No one had told him that the transformation would also result in his ability to speak homie like a pro, but there it was. Just one of the weird perks.

That, and the enormous dick.

Entry #8
by Shari

Professor Diana Anastasia Nikolaevna Spenser - it is imperative you come with me at once. Your father sent me. The secret code is vibrating biker ducky.”

“Look, I don’t know who you-” He silenced her with one black gloved hand. He was startled by the heat pulsing into his hand where he touched her lips.

“Mademoiselle, now is the time for action, not words. I am sworn to protect you from harm, but we must leave quickly – Glorificus is coming after you. I know I am a stranger to you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Marquis de Carabas, Gary Farber. You may know me from my public persona as a romance novelist. My family has long studied the secret art of Shindai as well as the Way of Mrs. Cosmopilite. We are to rendezvous with whoever else escapes the assassins in Vanzagaria. I have a private jet waiting at the campus airport, but we must move quickly.”

Diana blinked at him. “Let me grab my towel, my M41A Pulse Rifle, and the Dagon Sphere, then let’s blow this joint.”

“As you wish.” Finally, a woman who knew the importance of always having your towel. Life was good.

Entry #9
by Jen C

“You bastard.  You have brow-beaten and intimidated other men with your broad shoulders and misogynistic attitude.  You have taken the law into your own hands and used your power and influence to make your own rules.  You maintained a sexual double standard against women who dared to meet your number of sexual partners.  You were sneaky, manipulative, and mean to widows and orphans. No one denies that you were clever, but you lacked compassion.

You vermin.  You were downright cruel to Cleo.  You should have called her after you slept with her, and shown her the love and commitment she deserved.  She’s beautiful, funny and sexy, and you let your issues with your ex cloud your judgment.  You should have let Cleo know how wonderful she is, and you wasted opportunity after opportunity because you didn’t want to give up your regular lifestyle choices.

But you were saved by her love and her fantastic bedroom skills, so it is time, Gary, to go beat the bad guys and save Cleo!”

(with apologies to Gary Farber, who I am sure would be very nice to Cleo in real life)

Entry #10
by Liz

Yesterday Amber Granes had loved her position at G. Tycoon International. Today brought ferrets. Why couldn’t the project involve moody vampires or psychic federal agents? Why black footed ferrets?

“Ferrets are hot.” Amber swallowed against a surge of terrified joy. Gary Farber was behind her and fully clothed, that small detail proving she wasn’t dreaming. In her dreams, his relaxed fit denims were slung across her floor while that beautifully textured henley cradled her crumpled bra. Gary. His voice still promised all manner of sin in the bucket seat of his yellow Corvette. Flexible, compact, American sin.

“Gary. I’d heard you were busy conquering publishing.”

His blue eyes stared her down. Their black rims, as dark as his ragged ebony shag, seemed harder. “I’m proud of the work I’ve done, the women’s lives I’ve improved, but I’ve found a secret.” He dropped Tuesday’s copy of The Spite Spewer on her desk, folded to a full color photo of gap-toothed Madison with her prize winning cucumbers.  “When were you going to tell me about our daughter?”

“She’s not ours. She’s my twin sister’s. The one that’s dead.”